


A Study in Blue

by Gawth



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9181303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gawth/pseuds/Gawth
Summary: A Study in Scarlet, but with a Doctor Who twist.What happens when Sherlock and Watson are called to help Lestrade with a murder and find a Doctor Smith and a Ms Noble at the crime scene?





	

Mr. Sherlock Holmes treated drudgery and boredom as any normal person would treat an illness. It had been weeks since his curiosities had last been aroused and he now spent days at a time sitting tucked under blankets in his armchair looking out the window.

''Another cup of tea?''

Holmes peered up at be from under the blanket with a searching expression, detailing me from head to foot. His expression shortly changed back to disappointment.

''You were out again last night, John''

''I was''

He sat silently, looking back at the window. As if this had concluded our conversation.

''So... Would you like another cup of tea or?''

It took Sherlock a few minutes of glaring at that window before shifting his position in the chair slightly and extracting a small cup and saucer he had apparently sat on and handing it to me.

''Sugar?''

''My dear Watson, you very well know how I take my tea. Please cease your attempts to wrest me from my despair by meagre attempts at conversation. Either produce the tea that you have now offered or leave me to my peace''

I resigned and limped towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. He was right of course that I was simply trying to inspect his mood and well-being. Sherlock could on a good day expose himself to all manners of danger for the sake of giving himself some minor challenge or simply a relief of boredom. On a day such as this I would not trust him with a thimble.

Not a moment had that thought rested in my mind before a loud crash came from the living area.

''Sherlock!''

Rushing to his aid, fearing the worst, I found him fully dressed and swatting away a few crumbs from his attire. The armchair was lying on its side.

''What is the matter Watson?''

''I heard the chair fall and I assumed there was some urgency.''

''There is indeed some urgency, I will be requested shortly.''

Sherlock returned the armchair to an upright position and sat calmly back down, the footstool now carrying a handful of recent newspapers.

''You see, I just saw Lestrade's cart pass not five minutes after a line of police carriages. Something interesting will have happened.''  
Indeed, just as the tea began to whistle, there was a knock on the downstairs door. Mrs. Hudson entered the room moments after.

''Detective Lestrade here to see Mr. Holmes.''

''Thank you, please send him up, Mrs. Hudson'' responded Sherlock in an unexpectedly courteous manner. His mood had most definitely improved.

Lestrade looked grim and made little effort in concealing that it cost him a portion of his pride to come calling at Sherlock's residence.

''So, there appears to be a serial killer on the loose.'' Sherlock commented casually.

''Yes, but how on earth did you know?'' Lestrade responded with mixed interest and discomfort. He was not happy about Sherlock's uncanny ability to know things ahead of time.

''Simple. You do not look as though you have seen some new horror or bloodshed. You appear clean from head to foot and your expression is one of discomfort and frustration. The two suicides were not suicides at all. Pardon me, three suicides.''

''Yes, we've found another body. It appears to be the same situation. The body was found in an abandoned building where the victim had no apparent reason to be. There are no signs of a struggle. We had been treating the deaths as suicides because we had no evidence to suggest any foul play, but three deaths of this nature in three weeks makes this a pattern.''

''Would the inspector care for a cup of tea?'' I interjected, handing Sherlock and the detective a cup each.

''Thank you, Watson.''

''We will accept your invitation to the scene of the crime and we shall see what we can learn from it.'' Sherlock said inclining his head politely.

''A hansom will come and collect you shortly'' said Lestrade and headed to leave the room, relieving Mrs. Hudson of a cookie from the tray she was holding.

Mrs. Hudson had sometimes taken to eavesdropping and would prepare to offer cookies nearly every time the detective, or other clients, stopped by. This in order to overhear the intrigues that were discussed. I did not mind as Sherlock's bedside manners rarely extended to offering his clients home comforts. A landlady as forgiving to our activities as Mrs. Hudson should likely be forgiven her vice of curiosity.

Sherlock and I left shortly after Lestrade, who already had a hansom waiting for us on the doorstep of 221B. The crime scene was an old residential building that was to be renovated. The police had closed the street to the public for the investigation. More than one police officer looked displeased to see us as we passed them to enter the building. Lestrade greeted us inside the door.

''The body is on the top floor, we haven't found any sign that the victim or killer set foot in any other part of the house.'' Lestrade informed us as we climbed the spiral stairs up three floors.

The top floor was a furnished attic, leaving us slightly crouched as to not hit our heads on the sloping ceiling. The house smelled of old dust, it was clear that it had been months since the last resident had vacated. There was only one room on the top floor. As we entered two police officers were kneeling and taking notes next to a body lying flat on the stomach. There was also a tall man wearing a brown full-length coat over a suit and a shorter red-haired woman wearing a dark dress and a waist-length pendant.

''Could we have the room?'' Lestrade directed at the two officers, who left as prompted.

''Ah, this is doctor John Smith and his associate, miss Noble. They are special attachés and showed up shortly before you arrived.'' Lestrade explained, indicating the two-remaining people.

''I will have to excuse myself for a moment to instruct my officers''

Sherlock took no further notice of the two individuals observing him as he began intently examining his surroundings.

As Sherlock knelt beside the body and took out his magnifying glass, I found my eyes drawing away from the body. Even though I had seen many a injured man when I had been at war, the feeling of death and pure mortality of man was still fresh in my mind. 

I turned my gaze to the two other people in the room. 

The red-headed woman was in a heated conversation with the man she was accompanied with.   
The man, sporting a pair of eyeglasses and ruffled hair, was eyeing Sherlock and the body, whilst animatedly trying to point out details to the lady.   
I walked over to them, not wanting to bother Sherlock with prying around whilst he was at work, though I must say that his technique of investigation was quite unorthodox. 

‘I do say, would Madam be more comfortable outside the room and its bothersome view?’ I said to the woman. ‘The name is Watson, Doctor John Watson.’ I took my hat off, both in greeting and grieving for the unknown man lying dead on the dusty floorboards. 

‘Hello Doctor.’ Said the man with a rather excited voice. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you!’ He took my hand and shook it with warm gaiety. ‘Your work is truly a joy to read.’

‘Oh, so you have read my journal of the medical factor and its possibilities of…’   
My sentence was not finished, as Sherlock joined us, wanting the attention of the room. 

‘Watson, I have made my deduction and found the case clean and simple. It is astonishing that Lestrade needed my help at all!’ He exclaimed as he tucked his magnifying glass back in his inner jacket-pocket. 

‘The man has most certainly met his doom at a rather inconvenient time, as you can see by his shoes. Rather remarkable, this man has travelled to several parts of London in a short span of time, the mud and dirt from the front of his soles are from the southern parts of Hyde Park, and remark this, I have found smudges of dirt, the darker patches, there you see, which belongs to the streets lining the London Docks.’ Sherlock’s gaze rested on me for only a few seconds until he turned to the other participants in the room. ‘Considering the dry quality of the latter stains, he couldn’t have been deceased for more than a few hours, I dare to say five at most.’ 

The red-headed woman, whose silence had yet to be broken, took a deep breath, and turned to the fellow next to her. ‘Is this the big thing? This is what you wanted to show me?’   
Her voice was coarser than I had thought and her speech was something I had not heard before. Before I could gather my wits, she had turned towards Sherlock. 

‘And who are you then? Sherlock bleedin’ Holmes?’ 

Sherlock looked at her with amusement and gave a slight chuckle before answering her.   
‘Yes, but I am rather more curious on who exactly your superior is.’ Sherlock turned from the woman and set his eyes on the man beside her. The man quickly took out a paper from his pocket, which he held out for us to see. 

Behold my astonishment when I saw it, I had not seen anything like it before. 

‘Smith, Doctor John Smith of Her Majesty’s secret service’ The man, now to be called Doctor Smith, hastily retracted the paper into his pocket. ‘And this,’ gesturing to the woman beside him is the lovely Ms Donna Noble, an assistant of mine, quite feisty you’ll find out.’ 

‘Interesting, quite interesting.’ Sherlock murmured, his eyes resting on the pocket which now held the identification of Doctor Smith. ‘I do find that rather hard to believe, seeing the paper you had the generosity to show me and my associate. But I must not linger on details not concerning the matter at hand.’ 

Sherlock gestured to the body on the floor, all forgotten by me and seemingly the other inhabitants of the room. 

‘Doctor, what do you say about this poor fellow?’ Sherlock asked, looking towards the body and then back to our little group. Both me and Doctor Smith turned towards him to show our attention, whilst Ms Noble walked up to the body. 

‘He’s not a looker, that’s for sure. Could do with a shave and a shower.’ Ms Noble had knelt down and was inches from the dead man’s face. Her skirts were draping the man, covering him in red fabric. One would think she had started to screech by the top of her lungs, judging from Sherlock’s expression.   
‘I would advise you not to disrupt the scene of the crime, Ms Noble.’ His voice was calm but stern. 

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Holmes.’ She replied, though her voice didn’t sound it. She stepped away from the body, her dress slipping away from the body, moving the body just slightly. Sherlock’s frown grew deeper as he turned to Doctor Smith.   
‘I would advise you, Doctor, not to bring her along, if you are to peruse any other investigations in the near future. The lady has disturbed the scene and my future deductions will be muddled.’   
‘Oi! Don’t you...’ The lady fired up, but Doctor Smith raised his voice louder.   
‘Mr Holmes, if I may...’ He too walked over to the body, looking at a spot on the floor, earlier covered by the dead man’s hand. ‘If you would look here, you might want to thank my assistant instead of telling her off.’ 

I followed Sherlock to the middle of the room, intrigued by Doctor Smith’s comment.   
‘Rache…’ Sherlock muttered, reading the word now revealed on the floor.   
‘Rachel perhaps?’ Ms Noble said, now keeping her skirts closer to her.   
‘No. I do believe it is not Rachel, but Rache, a German word for revenge.’   
Sherlock paced the room, looking at the walls and the small number of furniture. Doctor Smith and Ms Noble stood together by the side, talking in low voices. I could hear some words, and I admit, my curiosity got the best of me. I heard words familiar to me and unknown. ‘Murder... Tardis… Space boy…’ 

Sherlock, however, paid the strangers no mind. Instead, he turned to Lestrade.  
“What do you think of it, sir?” Lestrade asked.  
“This man worked for something called Torchwood,” Sherlock held out a business card with Torchwood Institute printed on it in big clear letters.   
”He was killed in another location as evident by…” Sherlock began to make his deductions, but was quickly interrupted by Doctor Smith.  
“While I am certain your deductions are impressive and grand, we’re under a bit of a time constraint. Would you mind just getting down to the important bits?” He said, somewhat apologetically. Sherlock cleared his throat, seemingly offended by Doctor Smith’s disinterest in his deduction process.  
“Her majesty’s orders.” The Doctor said, flashing us the paper from before. Sherlock looked at him intently for the first time, one could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he made up his mind about the other man.  
“Our suspect is a large man, 6’5” and solidly built, he is a foreigner and has a habit of carrying around a blue, blood-like substance.”  
“Blue blood?” Miss Noble asked.  
“No, blood-like substance.” Sherlock corrected. He gestured to the floor with the writing on it. “Blood is, as we all know, red. The substance used for the writing is similar to blood in many ways. However, you are clearly in too much of a hurry for me to list them all.”  
“As I suspected.” Doctor Smith said. “We must hurry then.” He quickly disappeared through the door with his companion. I was just thinking how very rude it was of them both, to leave without saying goodbye when Doctor Smith popped his head in the door again.  
“What are the two of you waiting for? Allons-y!”

Doctor Smith hailed us a cab and quickly gave the directions to the cabbie. The cabdriver near refused upon hearing our destination, the Devil’s Acre, a slum near Westminster Abbey.  
“Don’t like to go near them slums, Sir. Damn near had my horses stolen the last time I was there.” He said. I found myself agreeing with him, and hoped the Doctor would explain his actions. Instead he waved the paper he had shown Sherlock and I earlier.  
“Her Majesty's orders.” He explained. I had a distinct feeling he not only said it for the driver’s benefit, but for mine and Holmes’ as well.  
“You are a brilliant detective Mr. Holmes.” Doctor Smith said as we drove off in the cab. “I do urge you to keep an open mind, there are things about this case that might seem… unbelievable.” Sherlock watched him closely, furrowing his eyebrows together as if he was trying to understand a difficult maths problem. However, he quickly eased his tensions and replied simply. “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

Doctor Smith brought us to a pub named the Red Lion. From the outside, it looked dull, rough and dire. Befitting of the area in which it is located. It was impossible to see through the dirty windows, but the whispers and weeping from within could be felt outside.  
“Surely, this is not a place for a woman.” I said, referring to Ms Noble.  
“Would you rather I wait outside and be murdered then, Doctor Watson?” Ms Noble snapped. I had come to see that she was a formidable woman, it no longer came as any greater shock that she was a spinster. Few men possessed the constitution needed to live with such a woman. However, I kept these musing to myself and apologized before following her inside the pub. We were welcomed by dirt and dust from all kinds places and a horrific scent. The bartender was smoking tobacco and made no effort to acknowledge our presence. It was as dreary inside as it was outside, cold, dark and damp with walls covered in cobwebs. The pub itself was buzzing with life, however, the people inside appeared to be dangerous in one way or another. Doctor Smith paid this no heed, nor did he acknowledge the obvious discomfort of his companions.  
“There is something… strange… about these men.” Sherlock spoke, he was referring to the other patrons in the pub, all of whom did indeed seem rather odd.  
“As I said, you must keep an open mind if you are to find our culprit Mr. Holmes.” Doctor Smith said.  
We followed him as he made his way to a table, where he ordered us drinks with great fervour. The other patrons watched us with suspicion, acutely aware that we did not belong.  
“Now, do your thing Mr. Holmes, deduce.” Doctor Smith said, as I watched Ms Noble drink her ale with gusto. Holmes, however, was attentively watching the other patrons in the pub. Doctor Smith, in turn was attentively watching Holmes. Smith seemed to be both fascinated and irritated by my friend’s abilities in the science of deduction.  
“I assume you suspect that the culprit is in these locals with us?” Sherlock asked.  
“Most likely, yes.”  
“And if I ask why you suspect this will you tell me?” I asked.  
“I will not.”  
“I see.” I was upset by Doctor Smith’s behaviour; his arrogance and lack of manners was appalling.  
“Do not fret, Watson.” Sherlock said suddenly, he had been unusually courteous towards the odd doctor. “I do believe I have found a suspect for us.”   
“You have? How?” I asked. Without my friend sharing the process of his deductions with me, it was near impossible for me to understand how he came up with these suspects. However, he ignored my confusion.  
“What are they exactly?” He asked Doctor Smith.  
“Aliens.” He replied curtly.  
“Right, so who did it?” Ms Noble interrupted, which I was thankful for as I was quite lost myself.  
“At the corner table, there are three men.” I glanced over to see two young men and an older man sitting closely huddled around a table. “They are all much paler than the other patrons, and their skin has a silvery tint.” Again, he was correct.  
“The Torchwood victims were unquestionably human and if the blue substance from the crime scene was blood then it must belong to the suspect. Therefore, those men in the corner would fit the bill, one can only assume that the blue blood would cause a difference in their skin. Additionally, we have already established that our culprit is 6’5” and solidly built. As such, the only viable suspect in here is the tall young man in the corner.” 

Armed with a smug grin Doctor Smith exclaimed, “Fantastic! Should these be the men we are looking for, approaching them will not be easy. These fine gentlemen are Etons, identical to humans aside from the towering height, pigment, lifespan, and so on. What shall the next course of action be, detective? 

Sherlock gave Doctor Smith a confident and quick reply. “How else does one carry a conversation at a bar? We buy them a drink of course”.

Ms. Noble shared a most distressed expression as Sherlock hurried to the barkeep. 

The good doctor nonchalantly followed.

Bursting from her seat, Ms. Noble snatched both Sherlock and the Doctor by their arms and with an agitated tone, she warned the gentlemen; “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I mean, who know what these aliens are up to. Come on, Space Boy, at least you should have the brains for this?” 

With a reassuring smile, coupled with a pat on Ms. Noble’s hand, Sherlock stated. “Worry not my dear Ms. Noble, those who drink beer will think beer.” 

The composed Sherlock with the eccentric Doctor then proceeded to the three men.

I stayed behind with Ms. Noble and analysed the features of the men. The young men had sullen cold teal eyes as if looking into a deep ocean and were fit and lanky as if they could scratch their knees standing straight up. The tallest of the young men was wearing a low winter hat covering a barely visible scar above his eye as if he had been struck in a scuffle. The eldest man in the hulking group had unpleasant, sharp, dark violet eyes and had the expression as if he was told good news.

With a smooth motion, Sherlock situated three tall pitchers on the table. As if from the same breath, Sherlock and the Doctor gleefully in sync asked. “How about a drinking game gentlemen?”.

The three men disgruntled at the apparent interruption surveyed the interlopers. The youngest of the three, with a brash deep acoustic voice, as if disciplining children, delivered a sharp retort. “You are interfering in our private conversation. Leave.” 

Sherlock answered with a whimsical plea. “Come now gentlemen, free beer is the best beer and even better with friends. Right Doctor?”

Unabashed Doctor Smith conveyed. “Oh, none for me, Mr. Holmes. I will just have a water, thank you. I am simply here for morale support, old chap”. Giving the Doctor an annoyed smile, Sherlock and the Doctor began to argue, causing a scene.

Suddenly the youngest man broke their ruckus with a loud exclaim; “Enough! Your foolish exchange is not amusing, take it elsewhere or ---”. 

Interrupted by a boisterous laughter, the old man settled down the young man. “You boys have been nothing but bad news these recent days. Relax and take the edge off, you hoodlums. Please join us gentlemen, you are just what we need right now!”.

Sherlock and Doctor Smith shared a bewildered look with one another, and with a united mumble, they whispered; “Well that was easy…”. 

The youngest man grunted, scuffed his teeth and took his seat once more, whilst the other silently examined Doctor Smith and Sherlock. The old man, with an eerie smile and contradicting joy in his voice, introduced the company of Etons. “My name is Celf with a C, the prudish one here is Gallan, and our abnormally quiet third is Diam. You are Mr. Holmes as said and Doctor…?”.

Doctor Smith briefly replied. “Oh, just Doctor. It is a pleasure”.

Taking the first drink was a sign of good faith, Sherlock then began to carefully question the trio. “Well gentlemen, pleasure making the acquaintance. What shall we cheer this fine meeting to?”

After a hefty gulp, Sherlock continued his interrogation. “You gentlemen look like you know your way around town, I was telling my very strange friend here of the local parks. Maybe you all can confirm my information?”

With a slow, suspicious glance at Sherlock, Gallan responded with an inhospitable attitude. “We are not from around here ourselves. Tell us what sights to see, Mr. Holmes”

“Of course lad, there is the Regent’s Park, St James Park, and south of that the ever so eventful Hyde Park, which is popular this time of year” Sherlock proclaimed. “Unfortunately, there have been an uprising of murders in town about three so far, so I advise travelling in numbers”

With a hasty inject, the jolly Celf opened his mouth, as if to berate Sherlock and Doctor Smith, but seemed to change his mind. He instead rose from his chair, gave a quiet excuse and walked away from the table and its company. “Pardon me gentlemen, I need to step outside for a smoke”.

Both Doctor Smith and Sherlock were quick to include themselves in Celf’s escape out the front. “We’ll join you sir; you lads help yourselves to the ale”. Sherlock imposed.

Diam and Gallan once clear of site attempted to exit out of the rear of the building. Followed closely by a bothered Ms. Noble, she let out an assertive “Now Watson, it is them!”.

Armed with a frightened determination I tackled both men to the ground knocking off Diam’s cap, revealing a painful scar scabbed with blue blood. While I was preoccupied with Gallan, Diam struggled his way up for another chance of freedom.

Ms Noble hurried after him, pulling out a strange metal device from her pocket, which she aimed slightly above Diam. A wooden beam fell down from above and hit him square in the head.   
‘I say, Ms Noble, what is that strange thing, lighting up like a torch and emitting strange noises?’ I said after having taken Gallan in a chokehold, my mind boggled by what had just occurred.   
She held it up and simply replied; ‘Sonic screwdriver, Doctor’s own toy. Let me borrow it for today.’ 

Stumbling around the corner with the then captive Celf, Sherlock said with a surprise praise. “Good show my dear Watson! Two men of this size on your own? Fantastic!”

I gave Sherlock a humble but embarrassed reply. “Uhm quite the contrary Mr. Holmes, it was Ms. Noble to the rescue. I think we need a break from this alien business sir...”

With the three men caught, Sherlock began explaining his process of deduction. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our men without a doubt. Young Diam’s boots there are covered in dry mud with a size to match the one at the crime scene. Of course, coupled with his fashionable blemish on his head. A scabbed cut, scabbed with blue blood, it is quite the sight to see first-hand if I may ask. As for the murder weapon, Doctor if you will”.

With a sarcastic acceptance, Doctor Smith answered. “I would be delighted Mr. Holmes!” searching the three men finding a small device.

“This here sends out a shockwave used to stop our victims brain and heart”. 

Sherlock then with a sharp interruption as if to steal the thunder from Doctor Smith. “Therefore, there was no sign of a struggle, a quick mess means of murder. It will be difficult to explain but off to the jail with these---”.

Doctor Smith cut in with a peculiar grin. “You can’t leave these men on earth. They are far too dangerous and Torchwood would be on a headhunt even more so once they find them. I will be taking them to their home planet, I am sure crimes like these extend across the universe”.

Sherlock with a discontent agreeance. “Very well Doctor but what do we tell Lestrade?”.

Cheerfully in response Doctor Smith shouted. “It is elementary my dear Sherlock! A man of your intelligence will find the answers”!

Doctor Smith and Ms Noble guided the three men around the corner of the building. The three men made no more attempts to run away, but followed willingly. 

‘Off to the planet of the Etons, I guess?’ I heard Ms Noble say in the distance. The thought of aliens from space was befuddling, something impossible that my mind could not comprehend.   
‘Are we just to let them leave?’ I asked Sherlock, who had taken out his pipe.   
‘No.’ He answered me. ‘Come with me, Watson. There is still something I wish to know before they leave.’   
We walked around the corner, but there was no Doctor Smith, nor any of the others, down the alley. ‘That it strange. They went this path not even a minute ago.’ I exclaimed, my eyes looking down the alley, finding no trace of them. 

‘Are you two going to stand there all day? I’ve got supper with mum tonight and she will nag if I’m late. Chop chop’   
I turned on the spot and saw Ms Noble standing by a big blue wooden box, the sign on it said ‘POLICE BOX’. She waved us forward before turning around to enter the box.   
I followed Sherlock, letting him take the lead, as my head was on the verge of utter confusion. 

As we entered the box, which I had expected to be crammed with people, seeing as both Ms Noble, Doctor Smith and the three men had entered, I was in for another shock.   
What I saw could only be described as entering a dystopian version of ‘Alice in Wonderland’.   
‘It is--’ I started, but I could not finish my thought. It would be impossible, it could not be what my eyes were beholding. 

‘Bigger on the inside.’ I heard Doctor Smith say, as he walked up to us from the middle of the room. Wherever I looked, there were shining lights, strange things and in the middle of all this, was the strangest thing of all. I dare not describe it, as I fear I will not do it justice and you would not believe me even if I had managed a photograph of it. 

Sherlock was still next to me; his expression was calm but agitated. He later told me that his thoughts were the same as mine, though I dare say his poker face had bested mine. 

‘I just wanted to know one thing.’ Sherlock said, stuffing his unlit pipe back in his pocket. ‘If you don’t mind.’ 

Doctor Smith nodded and let Sherlock pass him, watching him walk up to the three men, now sitting quietly in a corner. ‘Why?’ Sherlock asked, looking at the elder of the three. ‘Why did you kill the men from Torchwood?’ 

The man looked at Sherlock, measured him with his eyes and replied; ‘Rache.’ The same word as we had found at the crime scene.   
‘Please, the whole story if you please’ Sherlock said. ‘I do not mind deducing, I rather enjoy it, but this is something I will require your assistance with.’ 

The man Celf sat up straight and took a deep breath.   
‘It started a year ago. We had come to Earth, me, my mate and my sons. We couldn’t stay on our planet, Esfugoria, any longer. It was poison, you see, poison in the air. It was not good for us, so we left. We wanted a new life, a good life, somewhere safe. We had only been here a few days when they came to us, the Torchwood-people. They offered us food and shelter, in return for information about the things beyond the Earth. They wanted to understand. They wanted our help. They needed us. So we helped them, gave them answers to their questions.’   
He stopped and took a deep breath, sighing before continuing. ‘They said we could help them, with Torchwood. Build it they said. Our knowledge was invaluable to them. But then it changed. My mate, Mograh, was with child, as you would call it. We do not keep our children in our bodies as you humans do. They grow outside, from eggs. I heard the Torchwood-people compare it to chickens. They tried to take it from us, wanting to study its growth. Mograh would not let them, she did not trust them.’ 

A green tear was running down Celf’s cheek. I could see Diam and Gallan turning their heads, looking anywhere but at us. 

‘It was a female, the egg. We would have had a sister if it wasn’t for them.’ Diam said. ‘But they took her and our mother away from us.’   
‘We asked for them, begged George, the man from Torchwood, to give them back to us. They refused.’ Celf said. ‘We did not want to stay, we wanted to leave. Leave Earth and all its forms, go somewhere else. They refused us that too.’ 

‘So you decided to kill them?’ Sherlock said ‘Kill the men that fed you?’   
‘He did no such thing!’ Gallan said, his voice hoarse and his face struck with green tears. ‘One day, we saw them, Mother and egg, lying on a metal table in a cold dark room, cut opened as for slaughter. George came towards us and we panicked. We did not want to kill, but what if they did to us the same as they did to them?’ 

‘We only defended ourselves.’ Celf said, voice faint and defeated. ‘We will take our punishment, but not here, not on Earth. The good Doctor said he would help us.’ Celf turned his head towards Doctor Smith, who nodded. 

Sherlock straightened up and turned around. ‘Well Watson. I do think we are done here. Shall we go back into the world?’ Before I could reply, Sherlock had exited the box and was out of sight. I lifted my hat to Doctor Smith and Ms Noble before following him out, not wanting to be in this strange box any moment longer. The story of the Etons had moved me and my nerves needed a rest from the excitement. 

I found Sherlock at the end of the alley, silently looking at the box behind me. No sooner had I joined his side when a noise disturbed the silence behind me. The blue box was fading away, evaporating from the alley and soon there was no box. 

‘Shall we go back to the apartment for a cup of tea? I’m sure Mrs Hudson can add gin to it for your nerves.’ Sherlock said. Silently we walked up the street, hailed a cab and returned home.

The nature of our adventure had shaken my understanding of the world we reside in. I will keep this book for the sake of my own memories and some reassurance of sanity. I believe the story we gave Lestrade will retain as much truth as can be published safely on the matter. If this book for some reason reaches you, be very careful. I assume we have the Doctor to thank for evading Torchwood. The danger of drawing the attention of this agency should not be underestimated seeing what they are prepared to do when one comes in peace.

The End


End file.
